Every morning, I saw the same old man at the small tea stall near my house.
He always ordered two cups of tea.
But he drank only one.
The second cup just sat there, untouched, until it got cold.
At first, I thought it was strange.
Maybe he forgot. Maybe he changed his mind.
But it happened every day.
One morning, I couldn’t stop myself.
I walked over and asked, “Why do you always order two cups?”
He looked at me, smiled gently, and said,
“The second one is not for me.”
I was confused.
“No one else is sitting with you,” I said.
He nodded slowly.
“It’s for my wife,” he said.
“She used to come here with me every morning.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“She passed away last year,” he continued.
“But I still come here. I still order her tea.”
He looked at the second cup quietly.
“It helps me feel like she’s still with me.”
The tea stall suddenly felt very still.
I sat down beside him.
After a moment, I said, “Can I sit with you sometimes?”
He smiled again, this time a little brighter.
“Yes,” he said. “You can.”
From that day on, I joined him often.
We talked. We laughed. Sometimes we just sat in silence.
And every morning, there were still two cups of tea.
But now, one of them didn’t feel so empty anymore.
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